


Repetition

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Chara is a ghost AU, Chara switches between he/him and she/her, Chara was the narrator, Coming back to life, Complicated Relationships, Conversations, Cuddling, Cuddling that Frisk will probably regret later, Frisk POV, Frisk calls Toriel by her given name because they're edgy and cool, Frisk wouldn't kill anybody, Genderfluid Chara, Genderfluid Character, Genderneutral character, It doesn't exist, LMAO, No Genocide Route, Other, Post True-Pacifist Route, Sleepy Cuddling, True Pacifist, True Pacifist Run, and Frisk is confused, but also alive AU, but if you use they/them, chara is good, everyone is happy okay, five apparently, genderneutral Frisk, how many times can Toxic say Pacifist Run in different tags, i need to stop, let them be happy, pacifist, pacifist run, please commit knife in electrical outlet, that was lame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 08:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Chara sighs; they’ve been over this. “I know. I’m trying as hard as I can.”“Wish I could tell her.”“...I just…” They’ve had this conversation before, Frisk knows, and there’s no point in continuing it because Chara is generally adamant. But still, they can’t help bringing it up. “I don’t want it to become a big deal. And I think it’s going to work, but I don’t want to get her hopes up, in case things go badly.” He must be feeling kinder today, because usually he’d punctuate his words by saying that Frisk already knows as much.Still, they don’t hesitate before they respond. “You got my hopes up.”“That was different.” Chara says, brows knitting together, and Frisk silently agrees.---A short drabble in which Frisk goes to visit Chara in the woods, and they talk about all the same things they always do.





	Repetition

The soft crunching of the fallen leaves underneath Frisk’s feet are the only indication of their presence. Otherwise, their surroundings are quiet. Tranquil, almost. Undisturbed and untouched by the unforgiving disease that is civilisation.

 

Frisk raises their foot, watching their too-big blue rain boot slip off and fall to the ground. It’s not raining anymore, and the tree cover is such that their little hideaway is completely dry, so they just kick off their other boot before peeling off their socks (they’re mismatched, different colours; one of them has a hole in the big toe) and wiggling their toes in the crinkly remains of the leaves beneath their feet.

 

It is mid-autumn. Once, the leaves they are currently standing in were a green so bright and fresh that it touched their nostrils with the memory of a sweet scent that they weren’t usually standing close enough to experience directly. During the warmer months, the clear blue sky was vast and unhidden. The sun shone bright through the leaves, making everything glow green, and there wasn’t a single cloud to be seen. Now, though, the leaves are all red and orange; the more crunchy ones under Frisk’s toes are brown already, and starting to disintegrate with every passing day. They will return to the soil, one day. Giving back to the thing that once allowed them to prosper.

 

Perhaps, as well, their nutrients will someday feed a new leaf, and they will be reborn. Frisk can only hope, as a human, that they will be that lucky.

 

A sigh leaves their chapped lips; their breath is visible right now in the frigid fall air. It’s not really the time to be waxing philosophical about a bunch of leaves.

 

Pulling their hair band off of their wrist and putting it between their lips, Frisk sweeps their brown hair out of their face and pulls it taunt before taking the hair band back and tying their locks into a ponytail. Their hair isn’t usually long enough to do so, but it’s been a while since they’ve been to visit the hairdresser, and thus it currently allows for them to tie it into a small one. That’s good, they like their hair being a little longer. Hair clips are annoying and a lot to deal with, but they don’t like their hair in their eyes. If they really cared about it, they’d just grow out their hair, but they’re mostly indifferent, so whenever Toriel offers to take them, they accept.

 

Once they split their ponytail into two parts and yank on it a few times to make sure it’s tight enough to hurt when they blink, they grab their boots, shoving their socks inside, and continue walking. They’re not far from the spot, now. It’s always difficult for them to discern when they’re getting close, but they’ve begun to recognise a few of the landmarks.

 

Upon noticing a tall, jagged rock off to their left, Frisk halts, wincing painfully because they stop at a place where a small pebble digs into the arch of their left foot. Momentarily distracted, their red eyes drift down and they drop their boots, balancing their weight on one leg as they brush away the offender. It’s so small, it’s hard for them to comprehend that it was such a nuisance, but perhaps it is the little things that always hurt the most.

 

This is the place. Frisk wonders if they’ve placed their feet incorrectly. Should they take a few steps forward, or a few steps backward? Would that even be acceptable under these circumstances? But before they can act on the thoughts that have begun to flood their mind, the what-ifs and the maybes, the atmosphere of the small clearing changes, and the area darkens.

 

The air is already chilly, but Frisk notes that the temperature must drop a few notches, because all of a sudden they want to untie their blue rain jacket from their waist and pull it on over their shoulders. (They decide against it, knowing they’ll just get hot later.) As things are, they rub their arms, wishing that the purple sweater they selected this morning could be thicker, or the small tears in their jeans from years of use could be non-existent.

 

Leaves crinkle behind them, and Frisk nearly bristles, but manages to stifle any large reactions. Responding in such a way would only end the interaction entirely.

 

“You’re late.” A voice, cold but edged with warmth, sounds, and Frisk notes that it comes from their left. They don’t turn around, though a smile creeps onto their expression. “Ten minutes late, actually.”

 

“Sorry.” Frisk apologises simply. They understand that giving an explanation would generally be called upon under these circumstances, but they also understand that Chara has never been the type to care about these things. Besides, Frisk doesn’t like to waste their words. “Pronouns, today?”

 

“Him.” Chara answers, and finally Frisk turns around, burgundy meeting crimson as their eyes meet. Chara is smiling, as is to be expected of him, and his pale face is flushed in the cooler weather. He’s not wearing a sweater, today; a yellow long-sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants appear to be his choice in outfit at the moment. His feet are bare, like Frisk’s, but this isn’t such an uncommon occurrence; he is typically bare footed. Frisk knew that, when they took off their boots. “So, got a reason for your tardiness?”

Perhaps Frisk miscalculated. They turn fully, but don’t move from their place yet, fingers hooking on the strap of their backpack. “Undyne.” They respond curtly, then glance away, wondering if more of an answer would be appropriate. _Probably._ “She popped by with some leftovers from her and Alphys’ dinner last night.”

 

“Her cooking, or Alphys’?” Chara’s lips, which are already smiling, curl into a larger smile as he thinks of their friends.

 

“...Undyne’s.” Frisk eventually says, reaching up to brush hair out of their face. Since they pulled it into a ponytail, though, their hand drifts past their face and catches on the couple cartilage piercings that Burgerpants gave them a year ago. “It was… edible.” They’re being generous, really. It was a marvel that Undyne didn’t burn down the house making it.

 

“Yeah, I figured. I don’t see why they’d have leftover cup noodles.” His tone is so dry, Frisk can’t help but laugh. They shake their head, and Chara grins, and the ice is broken.

 

“You’re so extra.” Frisk comments, gesturing around the two of them. “Why do you have to make everything so cold when you show up?”

 

Chara lifts an eyebrow, leaning closer to Frisk as though he expects them to already have the answer. (They do.) “Because I’m extra…?” He says anyway, snorting. Frisk rolls their eyes, flicking him in the middle of the forehead. “Okay! Rude! God, you’re mean.” He sniffles, rubbing the reddened part of his skin. “Ughh… now I have to expend energy healing that.” He complains.

 

“You should be happy.” Frisk states, crossing their arms. Chara doesn’t respond for a moment, but they don’t elaborate, because he knows what they’re talking about. Besides, he’s always been the chatty one, between the two of them. If he wants to say it aloud, he will.

 

And he does. “Yeah, yeah, because I’m physical enough for you to touch me now. Whatever. I’m still not _entirely_ here.”

 

Shrugging, Frisk reaches out and, instead of flicking his forehead this time, brushes a couple of strands of hair from his face, something close to tenderness playing on their blank features. Their lips quirk up at the corners, and Chara’s eyes widen, but perhaps he doesn’t want to break the silence, because he doesn’t say anything. “Almost, though.” They finally murmur. “And then you’ll be able to come back and live with me, right?” _Toriel and Flowey, too, I bet that’ll be a riot,_ they think, but don’t say as much, because Chara knows.

 

“Of course,” Chara says it like he’s annoyed, but Frisk knows him well enough to read the earnestness in his red eyes. “I’d never pass up an opportunity to live with mom again.” Frisk raises an eyebrow. “And you. Of course. I thought that was a given.”

 

“It is.” They tell him, but they don’t say anything, and their hand remains on the side of his face. “...she misses, you. Your mom.”

 

Chara sighs; they’ve been over this. “I know. I’m trying as hard as I can.”

  
“Wish I could tell her.”

 

“...I just…” They’ve had this conversation before, Frisk knows, and there’s no point in continuing it because Chara is generally adamant. But still, they can’t help bringing it up. “I don’t want it to become a big deal. And I think it’s going to work, but I don’t want to get her hopes up, in case things go badly.” He must be feeling kinder today, because usually he’d punctuate his words by saying that Frisk already knows as much.

 

Still, they don’t hesitate before they respond. “You got _my_ hopes up.”

 

“That was different.” Chara says, brows knitting together, and Frisk silently agrees. They pull their hand away from his face, biting their lip. “Hey. C’mon. Let’s just enjoy our time together, okay? You’re going to stay with Sans and Papyrus next week, right? So I won’t see you for a while.”

 

“I… am.” Frisk hesitates in responding, but nods. “It’s not far, but I think Papyrus would worry if I went off by myself. You know how he is.”

 

And of course, Chara does know what Papyrus can be like, because he was there, all those years ago, when Frisk traveled through the Underground. He watched, guided, and eventually took the backseat as Frisk befriended every monster they came across, and finally freed their newly made friends into a surface world that might not have been entirely ready for them. They had wanted Chara to be by their side then and there, but he had been but a mere shadow of who he once was; a flicker, only present at all through their combined DETERMINATION. Without it… well, Chara may have simply ceased to exist.

 

Which would be a pretty awkward position for Frisk to be in, considering… no use dwelling on it. Chara is right that they don’t have very much time together. They sling their backpack off their shoulders and drop to sit down in the leaves, tucking their feet underneath themselves as they unzip their bag. “I brought some of Toriel’s cooking.” They explain concisely as they start to pull tupperware from their bag. Chara sits in front of them, watching their movements with interest.

 

“My favourite thing to hear!” Chara chirps, grinning. Frisk rolls their eyes again, but watches affectionately as he pulls open the tupperware and digs in with his hands. Usually they’d tease him over the poor manners, but it’s hard for them to muster the energy to do so at the moment, when he’s smiling like that. “I don’t get mom’s food often enough.” He declares through a mouthful of pie, and Frisk thinks, _You could,_ but they keep that thought to themselves; opting instead to brush a few crumbs off his mouth with their thumb.

 

“You eat like a kid.” They state, and he makes an indignant noise, but of course neither of them are very old. Chara’s been aging alongside Frisk ever since they fell, and he must be around eighteen as his current manifestation. They themselves are seventeen in a week, so really they’re still a kid, and such behaviours should be expected. But a little bit of needling is required, for moments like this.

 

“I mean, yes.” Chara agrees. “It’s the best way to enjoy your mom’s cooking.” And Frisk knows exactly how Toriel would respond; she’d smile affectionately and reach out, ruffling his hair and laughing quietly. She’d express only love, and fondness. As Toriel tends to do. It’s part of the reason why they chose to stay. Before falling into the Underground, Frisk was never really on the receiving end of that same warmth.

 

“I can’t argue with that.” They reply. Even so, Chara does look like a kid when he eats that way. It’s endearing, and they wouldn’t change a thing about it, but… childish.

 

Frisk exhales, allows Chara to have a moment to stuff his face in peace. They lean back, tucking their hands under their neck as their black connects with the ground. Once they’re lying down fully, they tilt back their head and stare up at the skies, through the trees. Though the rain has stopped, the sky is still grey with clouds, and it’s bright as the mid-afternoon sun is attempting to peek through. The branches of the trees are no longer aided by the leaves in hiding the sky from the forest floor. Now, they look like spider legs, dividing the sky into grey puzzle pieces without a box for them to model it after.

 

 _It’s nice out here,_ they think. The air is cool, but it’s warming up as Chara forgets his flare for the overdramatic. It’s still chilly enough for each of their breaths to leave their lips in large, visible puffs, which float up half a foot before scattering into the breeze. Out here, the scent of the city has been dispelled, leaving only the sweet smell of the dew and the trees all around them. Most of the vegetation around them is deciduous, but there are a few evergreen trees in the vicinity, and they smell good too, like the herbal salve Toriel gave them the other day to soothe their headache. Their eyes flutter closed, briefly, and they drink in the ambiance of the moment. The sound of a creek, nearby, and the breeze making branches brush up against each other. Chara, eating on their left.

 

They drift off, but only a little bit, and barely notice when Chara finishes eating. They are aware of it, though, when he joins them in lying down and curls up at their side. He’s warm, and taller than they are, and in the cold, they subconsciously press closer to him, though ordinarily they wouldn’t be so openly affectionate. Frisk used to be a lot more liberal with their friendly touches and gestures, but they’re all too aware of the interesting nature of their relationship with him, and it makes any sort of casual embrace awkward and embarrassing.

 

Not that he’s their brother, (or their sister when Chara is a girl,) and they’ve never thought so. They both consider Toriel to be a mother, but so does the entire Kingdom of Monsters. That isn’t really the issue. It’s just… hard to breach the topic, with Chara, when he’s always so evasive about those things. His answers generally remain the same. He’s stubborn and irrational and hard to reason with. Exactly the type of insufferable person Frisk knows they will always fall for. But maybe it’s a little bit because it’s Chara, too.

 

Nonetheless, at this moment, they aren’t really thinking about it, so they don’t feel anything but satisfaction upon tucking their chin into his shoulder. When he chuckles, it’s low and velvety and sends shivers down their spine, like hearing what used to be their favourite part of what used to be their favourite song. His voice is so melodic. Always has been, really. It was one of the first things they noticed about him, when he woke them up in the Underground and told them that the golden flowers had broken their fall.

 

The golden flowers, Frisk later discovered, that were once home to his body. Now, they’re sure, that body no longer exists. This form that is hugging them now is warm and real but it certainly isn’t the _same_ one. Not that it makes much of a difference to them.

 

“Hey.” Frisk doesn’t really have anything that they want to say, they just want to talk to him. About something, anything, really. “When will you be ready to come back?” It’s an interesting choice of wording for interesting circumstances. It’s not a matter of mental preparation, really, it’s a matter of him being physically in the world enough to come back and see his family again. They know, and they know also that it is awfully misleading for them to phrase it like that. But Chara understands.

 

“Hm. Maybe a month or two from now.” It’s so long to wait, but compared to the last seven years they’ve spent receiving indefinite answers, Frisk supposes it’s alright. It could be much worse, after all. They are reluctant to open their eyes but they do so anyway, pulling their face out of his shoulder to meet his gaze. Chara’s eyes are soft, softer than usual, and it makes them feel soft inside too.

 

“Toriel is going to freak.” They mumble, and again Chara chuckles, one of his hands finding the top of their head and playing with their hair. Frisk wants to complain that he’s messing up their ponytail, but it’s already ruined anyway, so they suppose it isn’t a very big deal. It feels nice, anyway, so they close their eyes again and return their face to where it was before. “...how does a ghost manage to smell like anything? Napsta always manages to smell like cornbread…” Mettaton generally smells like roses, or something else that would fit the robot’s strange aesthetic, but he probably achieves that scent through perfume. Which wouldn’t be too unusual, except that Chara probably wouldn’t wear perfume on one of his male days. Mettaton is unquestionably male, of course, but Chara isn’t quite on the same level as Mettaton. Plus, even when he’s a girl, Chara never seems to be a fan of strong scents.

 

Right now, he smells like those yellow flowers he was buried under, with a hint of chocolate, and it’s mild. Pleasant. Frisk feels relaxed breathing it in over and over again. “Body lotion.” Chara replies without hesitation, and Frisk snorts. “I don’t know, really,” he adds, more seriously now. “I don’t mind it, but the smells just linger whenever I go into my physical form. It’s kind of nice, actually. Helps for the romantic aspect of these visits.”

 

It sucks that Chara can say those things so casually when Frisk is still having difficulties admitting it to themselves. They sigh. “I like the way you smell.” They murmur instead, deciding against verbalising their thoughts once again. Chara doesn’t respond; he merely pulls out their ponytail and starts playing with their hair in earnest. Halfheartedly, Frisk mumbles, “I don’t wanna spend the visit sleeping, but if you keep doing that, I’m really gonna pass out.”

 

“Okay.” Chara responds, and Frisk curses the way that he can sound so sweet when he says so little. “I’ll wake you up half an hour before I have to leave. Get some rest, if you want.”

 

“...alright.” Frisk gives in without much argument, because they’re tired and comfortable and really Chara’s hands in their hair feels really good so they’re not in the position to complain. In a few hours, they’ll start the trip home, and when they get to Toriel’s house, they’ll again not tell her about Chara’s presence in the world. They’ll go back to their room and read books through the night, energetic from the long nap they’ll have taken in Chara’s arms, until they finally succumb to exhaustion and pass out for a few hours.

 

But for now, they just shuffle around on their bed of fallen leaves and press their nose into the crook between Chara’s shoulder and neck. He smells good, even though he is a little sweaty, and they’re happy for the embrace, though they’re sure that they’ll freak out about it later. Right now, none of it matters except the way that they’re feeling.

 

With that thought sending a content feeling flooding through their chest, Frisk lets out a long, hissing breath, and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> djkabdsb honestly am I allowed to just ignore the genocide route and say that this is Basically Canon
> 
> hey what's up it's me, uhhh, I really should've just. worked on something Danganronpa related today but it's only so often that I get inspiration for Undertale fics and I just had to sit down and write this
> 
> it's been a while!!! the days when I wrote Frisk and Chara as cis females are long over, thankfully, but I'm still not sure this is good at all lmao djsbfajbfsbjdb am I doing Undertale justice???? am I????????
> 
> is Charisk popular on AO3??? maybe???? hopefully more popular than,,, certain pairings. actually, better question, is the fandom alive here?? I hope that at least some people still like the game, and occasionally put out content for it. I try not to think about Fontcest if I can avoid it though
> 
> anyway hope you enjoyed my Garbage Fanfic and this weird AU thing where Chara is coming back to life and Also Gay For Frisk
> 
> wow they're older too that's fucking WILD
> 
> okay I should stop talking now that sounds like a dandy idea later logang
> 
> comments are excellent and always appreciated <3333


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